


Healing is (not) easy

by zanderskyward



Series: Drabbles [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: And a little bit of angst, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 21:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6825538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanderskyward/pseuds/zanderskyward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky returns home with a new arm and lots of demons, but Steve tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing is (not) easy

**Author's Note:**

> what do you mean I'm not over the mid-credits scene 
> 
> Inspired by this amazing art (https://twitter.com/madeofsparrows/status/708646200820441089)

Steve has never been more lost than when Bucky runs out of the room, feet silent and mouth retaining whispers even he doesn’t seem to want to hear. The first time it happens he follows him, worried, but only meets with a closed door that doesn’t open until hours later. Just hears restrained violence.

It keeps happening, again and again. He wonders what exactly is what triggers his dear friend, but it looks like is everything and nothing at all. It just randomly happens, and it’s frustrating, because he’s supposed to take care of him until the doctors find an effective therapy.

One day, he catches Bucky watching him from a corner as he paints on a blank canvas. Painting’s always been one of the things he liked to do as a child, so recently he thought of picking up old hobbies now that he has the time to relax a little. As soon as he notices him, Bucky flees as discreet as a cat and returns to whatever he’s doing at the moment. It happens a few times and Steve just – _wonders_.

Usually they spend a lot of alone time. The former winter soldier doesn’t like to be in the same room with someone (not even Steve) for more than an hour, and it hurts a little at first, but they’re making slow progress. He doesn’t want to push him, just tries to help him get used to his presence in the house. His goal isn’t Bucky living like a normal, not-tortured person without issues when the man is full of guilt and even more pain since he got his new arm. He’s optimistic, but he’s not a fool either.

And one evening, one horrible, heart-breaking evening he sees it. Bucky’s cleaning his only weapon besides the metal arm (he can’t sleep without a knife, he told him) and his body just paralyzes, lets the blade fall to the side on the floor where he’s sitting. Steve is painting beside him, canvas on the floor too this time, and notices, watches his friend’s anxiety take place instead of the focus he had just a minute ago.

“Hey, Buck,” he says softly, aware of the other’s agitated breath and eyes filled with not violence, but fear. He knows – or hopes – he won’t attack him. “Are you alright, buddy?”

Bucky doesn’t answer him and he soon realises talking isn’t going to get them anywhere. Wondering if he should just let him alone, Steve remembers the few times he’s seen the other man spying on him as he drew or painted. It can’t hurt to try.

So he moves closer, dragging the cans of paints and the paint brushes and the palette and the glass of water, and above all a bit of hope.

Minutes pass, and when the other man finally lows his gaze Steve has already added a layer of dark blue on his metal arm and moves on without acknowledging the change. He paints stars, orbits, the Earth, Saturn and Jupiter, the Sun and the Moon, and more stars. Bucky’s gaze softens through the process, eyes fixated on the brush and body relaxing bit by bit from the tension of his muscles that had him trembling. Steve hears him breathing in and out between pauses, self-control coming back to his friend, but doesn’t look up until he has the whole arm painted with the Solar System. As kids, they always loved seeing the stars during the boring, long summer nights of Brooklyn.

“Steve,” he finally looks up, but Bucky’s keeping his head down, voice thick with emotion. He has come back from whatever place his mind puts him when it becomes too much. “I don’t deserve all this.”

But Steve just smiles. A sad, warm smile full of affection and worry, sincere above all. He lets the brush aside and puts his hands on Bucky’s head, kissing his forehead and noticing how the other closes his eyes.

“No, you don’t,” he whispers. “You deserve so much more.”

 


End file.
